The Dress
by Ashfae
Summary: A fluffy interlude set between acts two and three. Hawke wears a dress; Anders is appreciative.


Author's note: This story was inspired by countless discussions between my fabulous friend and betareader A and I about rogue-Hawke vs mage-Hawke outfits, which were really arguments about the merits of practical clothing vs pretty pretty dresses. So here you go, A; my rogue Hawke in a pretty pretty dress. All your fault. =)

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><p>Hawke let the groom hand her out of the carriage and thanked him politely, inwardly rolling her eyes. Absurd, <em>absurd<em> to need a carriage to go a few blocks, but walking in this idiot dress and even more idiot shoes would have been difficult. And unfashionable, which was even worse to the company she'd been keeping tonight.

Not that she gave a damn. She'd never cared for the games the nobility of Kirkwall played amongst themselves. They were boring at best and trivially unimportant and petty at worst - the games and the nobility both, come to think of it. When she'd just been a scion of the Amell family she'd gone sometimes, with her mother, largely to make her mother happy. Spending some of her time learning the skills nobles were expected to possess - dressing, dancing, conversation, polite forms of address - she hadn't minded much, on the grounds that any knowledge tended to come in handy sooner or later. But the events themselves had been deadly dull, even with her mother for company. Leandra had never taken them very seriously either, but had taken pleasure in them, and Hawke had at least enjoyed all the stories Leandra had to tell of her own childhood growing up in Kirkwall, and of the secrets lurking behind the masked polite faces.

But Leandra was gone now. And if it had been up to her alone, Hawke would have preferred to never waste an evening at a ball again, even if she did "have a duty to the Amell estate," as someone had once put it. Unfortunately, she was Champion of Kirkwall, and mixed in with the games and dances of the nobles were the games and dances of Kirkwallean politics. And to that, she did have a duty she couldn't always ignore. More's the pity.

At least this time she'd been able to catch two rabbits with one hound. In addition to the maneuvering towards appointing a new viscount, which she fervently would happen _soon_, she'd been able to assist Sebastian in gathering more support for Starkhaven. She hadn't even had to do much actively there, and he hadn't wished her to; just being seen with the Champion of Kirkwall on his arm did a great deal for his cause. And for the cause of the gossips, it seemed. Oh well, it kept them busy and would do no real harm. Sebastian was sworn to the Maker and Chantry, even if only in his heart. And as for her...Hawke smiled. If she was lucky, perhaps Anders would still be up...

The lights of her estate, unlike many of the others, were mostly out; while nobles kept late hours, Hawke saw no reason for her household to dance attendance on her at all hours. She very much preferred they didn't, and after four years had largely carried the point that if she needed them, she could and would wake them up. And if she didn't, they might as well sleep. Her schedule was so unpredictable that anything else was insanity and inconvenient for everyone. She was going to need Orana's help to get out of this Maker-be-damned dress, though...

She closed the door behind her quietly, then whirled at a familiar sound. "_Down_," she commanded, holding out both her hands. Calen, her mabari, whirled and barked in a mix of excitement and disappointment. "_Down_, boy. If you jump on me while I'm wearing this it will take _weeks_ for Orana to get it clean, and I'm inot/i giving her that much extra work. You can pounce on me once I've changed."

"_Finally!_" someone said from out of sight; Hawke's heart lifted just from the sound. She hadn't really expected Anders to still be awake, he was usually exhausted from his work in Darktown by the end of the day. He came around the corner, still talking, "I will _never_ understand why nobles feel such a need to have their parties last until dawn, when-"

He broke off abruptly, staring at her. Hawke stared back, curious; he had a rather harried air about him. "Is something wrong?" she asked. His expression was odd, a mix of startlement and lingering annoyance.

He swallowed. "No," he said finally. "You...look stunning."

She grinned at him. "Not my usual style, I know. But good to know I can get away with it when I need to." She glanced down at the dress. It was a nice one, she minded it least of her half-dozen or so gowns. Leandra had wanted her to have two dozen, and it'd taken serious work to pare the number down. This one was copper-colored, with red and gold embroidery in a leafy pattern spilling over one shoulder and along part of the neckline; her other shoulder and arms were left bare. The bodice was tight and cut low, curving slightly to accentuate the breasts. The skirt belled out over her hips into ponderous folds of fabric, which was a heavy business, especially with a few layers of cream underskirts underneath to help it keep shape. Which was part of why Hawke hadn't even tried to walk home, but instead accepted her host's customary offer of a ride.

"Get _away_ with..." Anders shook his head. "Truly. You look wonderful."

Hawke considered this, and him; his face had gone blank in a way she recognized as his way of trying to force back some problematic emotion. Well, teasing was usually the best way to get him out of that... "You don't sound wonder-struck. In fact, you sound downright depressed about it." She mock-pouted at him. "And don't I even get a welcome-home kiss? It's been a long evening and I've been wanting one all night."

A smile tugged at his mouth. "Didn't I hear something about not being allowed to pounce on you?"

She shot him a Look. "That applies to the _dog_, idiot, not you!"

Anders did smile at that, and walked forward; Hawke flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, thoroughly. "You'll make Calen jealous," he murmured against her lips. The mabari was brushing up against their legs, tail wagging furiously.

"It's good for him."

"Not for me, though. He doesn't try to pull _you_ out of the bed."

She broke off, laughing. "He only did that _once_." She took his hand, tugging him after her and into the house proper. "Is everyone else asleep?"

"Orana was waiting up for you, she was sure you wouldn't be able to get out of your dress alone. I told her I'd help and she blushed and ran off to bed." He eyed her gown with open misgiving. "I might have been over-optimistic, however. I can't even see where the fasteners _are_. Were you sewn into it? It's certainly tight enough around the chest to give that impression."

"Yes, they used so much cloth for the skirt there wasn't enough left for the bodice. Such a shame."

"Mm, shows off your neckline nicely, though." Anders pulled her close for a second a place a kiss lightly on her bare shoulder, and another where shoulder met neck. She squeezed the hand she still clasped and smiled at him. He smiled back, but there was still...something...in his eyes.

She let them get up to the bedroom and close the door before she called him on it. "Want to tell me what's on your mind?"

Anders groaned, stalked over to the bed, and fell backwards on it. He grabbed a pillow and covered his face with it. "Am I that transparent?" he said, voice muffled by the pillow.

Hawke sat - carefully, sitting in multiple skirts was a problematic business - on the other side of the bed, and reached under the pillow to ruffle his hair. "To me, yes. You clearly have something bothering you, and it's clearly something that's not too serious, or you would have already brought it up, but serious enough that you haven't been able to dismiss it, which is why you're still awake. Were you pacing again?"

He lowered the pillow and glowered up at her. "Your mind-reading abilities are positively diabolical."

"I don't think it's possible to be _positively_ diabolical. And you always pace when you've got some fool idea in your head." She tried to bend over to kiss him, then grimaced as she realized the dress made this too difficult and uncomfortable a prospect. "Help me out of this stupid outfit, would you? I can't move properly in this thing. And tell me what's bothering you."

He stood up and walked around the bed, but when she moved to stand, placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her seated. Perplexed but obliging, she looked up at him.

Anders' forehead creased. "_This_," he gestured at the dress. "You look like a princess."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "This isn't the whole 'You deserve better than a fugitive with no future' thing again, is it? Because I thought we'd buried that one when I invited you to move in."

He grinned sheepishly. "Well, we do have a knack for running across dead things that have come to life again..."

She waved this away. "No necromancy allowed in this argument. I love you. You love me. Because of this, we now get to live together and have lots and lots of sex. Problem solved, as Isabela would say."

"The disparity doesn't disappear just because you wave a hand, you know."

"Why does it _matter_? A few years ago I was a penniless Ferelden refugee, just like you. You of all people know how little all this means."

He was silent for a moment, then shrugged. "Gossip," he admitted. "All the word on the street is about what a poetic couple the Champion of Kirkwall and the rightful heir of Starkhaven make."

She stared at him for a long time. "Anders," she said finally. "You can't possibly stand there and tell me that you're jealous of _Sebastian_."

Anders flushed. "Not...exactly. Of what he can offer you." His hands clenched briefly, and he shrugged, looking away. He paced unconsciously in front of the fireplace for a moment; inwardly, Hawke groaned. At this rate he'd wear the rugs out in a few more months. "You would make an impressive pair, you must admit it. You could _be_ a princess. And I-"

"_Anders_," she repeated, exasperated. "I let him escort me to the ball to do him a political favor. You know damn well it doesn't mean anything. What do you think I am?"

He whirled, coming back to her and reaching out his hands; she took them, and he squeezed, hard. "No, no, of course I didn't mean that. I know you better than that. I just...don't understand why you're not more tempted by what he has to offer." Anders released one hand to brush a lock of hair away from her forehead. "You could have anything, anyone. Any life you wanted. Why are you choosing this one?"

Hawke reached up and pulled him down to hers for a long, lingering kiss. "Several reasons," she said, releasing him. "First..." She caressed his face, smiling. "First is that with you, I have _fun_. Sebastian is a good man, one of the best men, but he'd never tease me, or help me play practical jokes on Varric, or let me go down on him in a hidden corner of Hightown Market when no one's looking." Anders smiled at her at that memory; they'd been giggling all the rest of the day, after that, until Isabela had driven them both to hysterical laughter mixed with furious embarrassment by listing various things they must have done (and where, and with whom, and in what position). They were _still_ enduring teasing about a supposed threesome with Hubert in mine-cart at the Bone Pit, all of it done with outrageous accents...

"Second...hmm, how to put this..." Hawke smirked up at him. "You, my love, are putting too much stock in appearances. Allow me to remind you of who the woman you're sharing quarters really is, hmm?"

"Oh? What have I overlooked, exactly?"

"Overlooked is exactly the word. Take a step back and have a look at me, and tell me what you see."

"On the grounds that any excuse to ogle you is a good one..." Anders did so, crossing his arms and looking her slowly up and down. "The color of that dress does marvelous things to your skin, you know. You're all delectable, rosy cream..." He licked his lips in obvious appreciation.

"Stop thinking like a cat and look closer," she demanded. "At my arms, especially."

This clearly confused him. "At your arms? Well, a few scars, though thanks to my superior healing skills nothing major, of course..." Anders stared. "Sorry love, I really can't imagine what you're hoping I'll notice. They're entirely lovely arms but seem fairly normal to me."

"Rather more muscular than a lady's though, wouldn't you say?" she hinted.

He shrugged. "Couldn't say. I'd assume so, but when you get right down to it I haven't met many nobles."

"I'll have to be more explicit, I see."

"Please do, I love it when you're explicit."

"You'll like this, then." Hawke stretched out her legs, leaning back on her arms. "Get down. On your knees."

With a raised eyebrow, Anders obeyed.

Hawke looked down at him, trying to school her expression and largely failing. What could have been a difficult conversation was taking a pleasing turn... "Have a look at my legs. Not just a look, feel them."

He shuffled closer and wrapped one hand gently around her ankle, stroking the skin. Hawke shivered. _Definitely_ a pleasing turn. "Move upwards," she commanded, voice suddenly huskier.

A smirk flickered across Anders' face as he obeyed. "I can't imagine what point you're trying to make here, but I'm enjoying finding out..." His fingers toyed with her shin, lightly tickling the back of her knees, and Hawke forced back a giggle.

"Higher than that."

"How many underskirts does this thing _have_..." he complained, though not very seriously as he was clearly still distracted with caressing her legs. He used his other hand to push some of the heavy fabric to balance on his shoulder, trying to keep it out of his face while also out of his way. His other hand had finally found its way up to her thigh - and stopped abruptly. Hawke smiled to herself as understanding dawned on his face, as his fingers explored the sheathed dagger tightly strapped to her upper leg. It was smaller than the sort she usually preferred, but sharp and effective. It had a mate strapped to her other leg, and strategic slits sewn into her skirts would give her access to them in an emergency. Not immediate access, granted, but she always had weapons to hand.

Anders chuckled, withdrawing his hand and sitting back on his heels; the skirt-fabric rustled as it slid off his shoulder. "_Not_ what I usually find when I'm reaching up there."

Hawke sat up straighter. "I'm not a lady, dearest. I might be dressed as one at the moment, but I don't really have much in common with the nobles and their maneuverings. I'd die of boredom within a week if I tried living that life. I'll do it once in a while to accomplish a purpose, but..." She shrugged. "I prefer to be more active. And I like doing some of everything. It keeps life interesting."

"Oh, your point is thoroughly made, I assure you. Though to be honest I think I've gotten distracted from the original question." Anders' hands were wandering over her lower legs again. "And as long as you're in this position anyway..."

Abruptly, he flipped her skirts over his head, ducking between her legs. Hawke leaned back on her arms again and sighed with pleasure and anticipation as she felt his mouth graze along her shins and thighs, tracing the route his hand had taken earlier. She smiled as he placed a deliberate kiss just next to the strapped dagger he'd found, then echoed the kiss on the opposite side, then...Hawke let herself fall backwards on the bed, and tried without much luck to pull her skirts out of the way and over his head, though they certainly didn't seem to be impeding him much _now_...

It was several minutes later before Anders emerged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. His evident smugness only increased at the sight of her hands fisted in the now-tugged-out-of-place blankets, and her flushed face. "I will say," he began, sitting on the bed beside her, "that stunning as it was, this dishevelment suits you _much_ better than the pristine princess look."

"Bastard," she said fondly, still trying to catch her breath. "Are you going to help me out of this dress or not? I'll never be able to wear it in public again without thinking of this, you know."

His laughter rang through the room


End file.
